


no man is an island

by iamthemagicks



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: Ten years after abandoning Eugene on the train, Snafu shows up on his doorstep.





	1. Chapter 1

**i.**

“Daddy, someone’s at the door!” Flicker yells as she dashes from the den, down the hallway. Her bare feet thump against the wooden floor. 

Eugene glances up from his desk, rubbing his eyes. He’d heard the door knock but paid it no mind as he read over his notes from the bird watch the previous day. He looks up at the clock, then down at the papers strewn across the desk. It’s past lunchtime and he’s a little surprised his daughter hasn’t asked for food yet.

He yawns and stretches and cracks his back before standing. He hears her idly chatting with the stranger at the front door. She’s more like her mother in that aspect, makes friends wherever she goes, doesn’t actually know the meaning of the word stranger. 

As he approaches, he thinks he recognizes the voice of the guest on the porch; but to be hearing the voice that Eugene thinks he’s hearing would be impossible. It’s just another trick of the mind, something else left over from the war. 

“Who is it, Flick?” Eugene asks, curling a hand around her bony shoulder before glancing up at the open door.

He almost falls backward because it can’t be real. There’s no way that Snafu Shelton is standing on his front porch, dressed in khaki pants and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. Not after ten years. 

“Hey, Sledgehammer,” Snafu says sheepishly with his crooked grin. His posture is as bad as ever, his slouched shoulders and hunched back. 

Eugene’s mouth is dry, but he answers. “I don’t go by that.”

“Of course,” Snafu answers with a soft chuckle. “Guess nobody stateside would call you that.” He glances back to Flicker. “This your little girl?”

He holds tighter to her shoulder and she wiggles from his grasp. “Yeah.”

“My name is Flicker,” she says, putting out her dainty hand for Snafu to shake, which he does, with the most amused grin. “Would you like to come in, Mr. Shelton?” She stands to the side to leave him room for entry, like any good southern lady.

Eugene grinds his teeth as he glares at Sanfu. He can’t dismiss Snafu with Flicker watching, how could he explain it to her?

“I’d love to, little darling, if that’s alright with your daddy.” 

Flicker turns to face him. Her eyes are as bright as the sky, her smile like the sun. “Do you want him to come in, Daddy? He says he’s your friend.”

Snafu looks at Eugene with pleading eyes. Eugene swallows his pride and anger and gives a stiff nod, allowing Snafu to enter his home. Like a vampire.

“Let me show you to the parlor,” Flicker says, taking Snafu by the hand. “Daddy, you should get some lemonade for our guest.”

Snafu chuckles and Eugene can’t help but crack a smile. His daughter’s manners are better than his own, her heart untouched by hurt and disappointment. “Sure, take him to the parlor. I’ll get the lemonade.”

They split their paths, Eugene heading for the kitchen and Flicker leading Snafu down the hall to the back porch. They don’t really have a parlor, not like his mother in the plantation style house a few towns over. He built the porch for Holly, in an attempt to make the marriage work. 

Flicker begins to prattle about the house and the town, her pet goats, the rabbit hutch. She’s quite the hostess and entertainer. In the kitchen, Eugene readies the pitcher with ice and the lemonade mix. He opens a box of cookies, shoving one into his mouth before dumping the rest onto a plate.

He used to dream of this day, where Snafu would magically turn up on his doorstep. He would apologize for leaving Eugene on the train, he’d realize what a horrible mistake he’d made. He was scared, that’s all, just for a minute. It took a few months, but he’d come to his senses. Day after day, Eugene had waited, like a dog for its master, but the weeks turned into months and to years and Eugene stopped checking the front door.

Now, ten years later, he doesn’t know how to feel. What’s Snafu’s angle, what does he want now? What could he possibly want?

Eugene takes the tray down the hall to the porch, already set up for company. Wicker furniture (that Holly hates), a table for snacks and drinks, a few large books on the table to encourage discussion. Flicker sat next to Snafu on the wicker couch, already infatuated with him. It was the eyes. They were blue and sometimes green, wide, always watching and waiting for something.

Eugene sets down the tray and pours the lemonade like a good host before sitting in the chair furthest from Snafu. He knows that he’s scowling, he feels it in his muscles but doesn’t try to stop.

“Daddy, Mr. Shelton says that you two were in the war.”

“A lot of people were in the war, chick.”

“But together,” she says. “You were together in the war.”

He nods and sips his drink, all the while keeping his eyes on Snafu. “There were still lots of other people,” he answers. “I’m surprised he even remembered.” He sticks that on pointedly, hoping it will rile Snafu, but he remains as cool as ever.

“You don’t forget someone like your daddy,” he says to Flicker. She smiles at the compliment, but Eugene seethes. How dare Snafu come into his home, ten years after not saying goodbye, after taking the coward’s way out, after not so much as a goddamn telegram in all that time, and start spouting pleasantries at him and his daughter?

Snafu listens dutifully to Flicker go on about school and her friends, then about herself. “Flicker ain’t my real name,” she says, “It’s Elizabeth, but no one calls me that. Flicker is from the state bird.”

“That right?” He glances at Eugene, then back to Flicker. “Snafu ain’t my real name neither.” 

She smiles widely. They have a connection. “Momma and Daddy love birds,” she says. “Momma is a teacher and Daddy is writin’ a book!” She goes on so excitedly that her body almost vibrates. She’s been his research assistant. Going out with him in the early mornings for the blue jays, jotting down her own observation notes and working the camera. Eugene packs them lunches and drinks and brings cards to play when the birds aren’t cooperating. 

“Your daddy was always writin’ when we in the war.”

Eugene shoves cookies into his mouth and downs three glasses of lemonade, wishing it was vodka. After fifteen minutes (he practically counts the seconds), two of Flicker’s friends come to the back porch, knocking on the screen. “Mr. Sledge, can Flicker come out and play?”

Flicker looks to him for permission. He wants to deny her so he won’t be forced to talk to Snafu alone, but he gives her a nod. She bids goodbye to him and Snafu before disappearing out the back door with her friends. Eugene watches as they over the hill, laughing in high spirits.

Snafu watches too, then turns his attention to Eugene. “She’s a cute little thing.”

“I know.”

“You married?”

He scoffs. “What do you care?”

Snafu drinks his lemonade with a shrug. “Makin’ conversation.”

“Sure.” They sit in uncomfortable silence. Eugene watches the hands on the clock move, he listens to the distant sound of the children playing. “What are you doin’ here?” he finally asks.

“Thought I’d pop by for a visit. I was in the area.”

“You live in Louisiana, that’s a whole state away,” he says. A whole state by land, only a few hours by the gulf. “How did you even find me anyway?”

Snafu rolled his eyes. “You’re in the phonebook, _cher._ Not some great detective work.”

Heat flashes through his body. “Don’t call me that.” He clenches his jaw.

“Alright.” Snafu sets down his glass. “Sledgehammer--”

“I don’t want you to call me that either.”

“Gene. Jesus, what’s your problem?”

Eugene stands up, then sits back down, unsure of what to do with his body, his words. For a long time, he’d planned on what he would say if he ever saw Snafu again. He had a whole list of grievances. You’re a coward, you ditched me, you lied to me, you never came back. It took him about two years to move from lovelorn to a pillar of anger.

“You...you left,” he says simply. “I was sleeping and when I woke up, you were gone.” The memory plays fresh in Eugene’s mind. He tried to bury it over the years, like everything else about the war. But he still tastes the thick tang of the train air, still feels the quiver of sickness moving up his body when he realized he was alone. “You didn’t say goodbye.” His brow knits together and he forces himself to look Snafu in the eye. 

Snafu nods and wipes a hand down his mouth. “I didn’t.”

“So why are you here? Why now? Aren’t you married?”

He chuckles. “No. No, but there are two ex-Mrs. Sheltons.”

“Then why don’t you go and find a third?” His voice is venomous, his eyes like stone. He thinks if he’s mean enough, Snafu will leave, and Eugene can go back to forgetting. _You better get mean,_ Snafu told him once.

But Snafu is still Snafu and he sits and takes Eugene’s words, his angry look. Words had always hurt Snafu more than fists, but he takes it silently like he deserves it. And he does, Eugene reasons. After the promises, the lovely sentiments.

“I ain’t lookin’ to make anyone else unhappy.”

Eugene sighs. His chest feels heavy and aches. “Then _why_ are you here?” He tries again.

They stare at each other. Outside, the children play and scream, a dog in the distance barks, a flock of geese fly overhead. Eugene wants the house to come crashing down, he wants there to be a fire, a natural disaster that swallows them whole.

“Look, I don’t…” Snafu begins. He scratches his neck and tugs at his collar. “I don’t have the right words it just seemed like the right time.”

“One of your voodoo priests tell you that?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Eugene sighs again, pressing his hands into his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know. I knew that you’d be married with kids, but, I dunno. I just wanted to see you.” His voice becomes small, like those nights when it was just the two of them on watch, or in their tent, sharing a cigarette and looking at the stars. That’s when they’d opened up for each other, spilling their secrets and backstories by moonlight. That same tone of voice as when Snafu reached between them in the foxhole and took Eugene’s hand for the first time.

More time passes, each second moving in slow agony. Eugene doesn’t know where to look, he doesn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, Snafu pops up, brushing crumbs off his lap. “This was a mistake,” he says, more to himself than to Eugene.

Eugene looks up and Snafu starts to walk back down the hall. The sight of him leaving sends a familiar pang of panic through Eugene’s body. “Snaf,” he calls and follows. They both stop in the foyer. Snafu looks at the photographs on the wall. Most of them are of Flicker. There’s one of Holly accepting an award, one of them at Flicker’s christening. 

“I’m married,” Eugene confesses, rolling the ring around his finger. “But...it didn’t work out….it’s complicated.” 

A grin tugs at Snafu’s mouth. “She gonna come after me with a shotgun?”

Eugene licks his lips and smiles. “Maybe.”

He feels that old pang of missing Snafu. Something he thought he’d destroyed years ago. He reaches and touched the door handle. Their bodies are close, but he steps back. “Don’t...where are you goin’?”

“Back to my hotel. I have it for another three nights.”

“Don’t...don’t leave town yet, okay?”

The grin on Snafu’s face widens. “Alright. Anything.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Eugene clarifies, “so, just don’t leave yet.”

Snafu nods, opening the door. “I’ll see you around, then.” 

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the drink. Tell Flicka she’s a great hostess.” 

“She knows.”

He chuckles before walking out the door, ambling down the walkway and to his car. Eugene closes the door and moves to watch from the living room window. He uses the thin curtain to block most of his body.

Snafu lights a cigarette and looks at the house one more time before setting into the car. He sits there for a few minutes, hand twitching, radio playing loudly. What must he be thinking? Eugene moves closer to the window as if he’ll be able to read Snafu’s thoughts. If could have done that, he never would have fallen asleep on the train.

The music stops and Snafu backs out of the driveway. He passes by the window and lifts a hand to wave, knowing he’d been watched. Eugene waves back, pitifully, before reeling to the couch. He picks up one of the throw pillows and screams into it.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

As the sun sets, Eugene is finishing up dinner, moving the pots and pans around on the burners, stirring pasta and sauce. The kitchen fan whirs above his head, but it’s still hot, and sweat drips down his back and his face. He grabs a towel and turns off the oven before retreating to the back porch. 

The sky is bright purple and the first white stars of the night have emerged. Across his backyard, he sees Flicker and her friends playing in the empty baseball field. She runs the bases laughing. They don’t have a ball or bat. He grins, watching them. Fireflies blink over the grass, crickets and cicadas have started their evening song. 

He goes inside and wipes his face with the towel before getting out plates and cups. 

A few minutes later, Flicker comes racing into the house, out of breath. She can’t really tell time, but she knows when it’s time for dinner. “Is it ready, Daddy?” she steps to the stove to check on his progress. 

Her dark hair is a wild mess and the skin of her nose and shoulders are dark pink. “You have to go wash up,” he says as he scoops pasta into the three bowls. “And pull your hair back.”

She groans, but obeys, running up the stairs.

The front door flies open and Holly stomps in, kicking off her shoes. “I should be allowed to wear pants like anyone else!” she announces. 

He chuckles, continuing to parcel out the food.

She comes down the hall to the kitchen, pulling off her earrings and reaching under her skirt to pull off her pantyhose. She throws the thin material to the ground, the gesture not as grand as it should be. “Maybe I should get a new job and use your name so I can wear pants to work and people will respect my authority.” 

“No one has ever respected my authority,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He goes into the icebox and retrieves her a beer. 

She presses the cool glass to her cheek and neck. “Thank you.” She’s already unbuttoned her shirt, letting it open down to her stomach; he sees the rise of her breasts and the white material of her brasserie. Her skin is just as pale as his but milky and pinkish. Silky silver stretch marks span along her ribs and over her hips from the pregnancy. “Get one for yourself,” she says after bringing her bottle across her sternum. “Go sit, I’ll finish doling out the food.”

“You’ve been workin’ all day.”

“So have you.” She steps into his personal space and touched his the bridge of his nose. “You’re reading too hard.” She pushes him towards the table and hands him her beer before grabbing the bowls and plates for dinner.

Eugene obeys and sits, popping the lid off the bottle. The beer rests cool in his stomach. 

“Mmm, pesto, Eugene, you shouldn’t have.” 

One of her favorite dishes. He shrugs. “It’s not hard.” 

They’re interrupted by the galloping sound of Flicker coming down the stairs.

“Momma!” she calls in the split second before she’s in the room and wrapping herself around Holly’s leg. 

“My favorite chickadee,” Holly coos before running her hands over Flicker’s hair. It’s slightly less messy than when Eugene sent her to wash up, by Holly still can’t get her fingers through the curls. “Sit down, lovely, Daddy made dinner.”

Flicker eagerly takes her spot at the table, sitting in the center, while Holly and Eugene have their chairs at either end. Holly hands everyone their bowls and gets a glass of water for Flicker. Eugene watches the tender and sweet moments between mother and daughter. The way Holly bends to cover Flicker’s face in kisses, the pure adoration in Flicker’s eyes as she looks at Holly and asks about her day. He’s lucky to have them both. 

“Oh yes, Flicker, it was a very long day,” Holly says, cutting her chicken and dunking it in the green pesto sauce. “But same as always. How was your day? Tell me all about it.” 

“Daddy had a visitor,” Flicker says.

Eugene almost chokes on his pasta. He planned to tell Holly after they’d put Flicker to bed. Holly could give him advice. 

Holly grins. “Did he? Daddy hardly ever gets visitors.”

“I know!” She giggles. “It was an old friend from the war. Mr. Shelton.”

Holly’s eyebrows quirk upward in recognition. “Mr. Shelton, hm?”

Flicker nods and goes on to explain their visit. The lemonade, the cookies, how she was a proper hostess and Mr. Shelton was a lovely guest. 

“Will Mr. Shelton be coming back?” Holly asks, taking another bite of food. “I’d like to meet him.”

“I don’t know.” Flicker looks sadly into her bowl of pasta. 

Eugene reaches to tap by her bowl. “Eat up, chick.” 

Dinner passes in the same manner as most nights: Flicker tells them about her day at the creek with her friends, Holly talks a little bit about work, Eugene mentions some progress he’s made in his book. Holly clears the table and Flicker runs upstairs for her bath. 

“After we put chickadee to bed, I need to hear everything.” Holly waggles her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, filling the sink with water. He grabs the soap and a sponge. “He came, he left, end of story.”

Holly rubs his back, scratching down his spine. “You’re such a dirty liar, Gene. Make us some drinks, I can tell you need it.” Her voice drops low and caring and she kisses his shoulder before going upstairs to assist Flicker in the bath. 

He washes the dishes in cold water to combat the heat of the kitchen. By the time he’s finished and setting them in the drying rack, Flicker and Holly are back downstairs in the living room. Holly sits on the couch and Flicker in front of her with a puzzle on the coffee table. “Hurry up, Daddy, Lucy is on!”

A normal evening routine, watching _I Love Lucy_ as Holly brushes Flicker’s long hair, Eugene eased in the corner of the couch, arm hanging over the back. But instead of thinking about the pages of his book, or the pictures of his birds, he’s thinking of Snafu standing in his doorway, sitting on his porch and smiling at his daughter. He thinks about the last time he saw Snafu on the train, in their dress uniforms, in the hazy evening as the sun was setting.

_Get some shut-eye_ , Snafu said, touching Eugene on the knee. _I’ll wake you when we get there._

Flicker gets her bedtime story and kisses from both parents before being tucked into bed. She says her prayers and pulls her teddy bear close to her chest before rolling into her pillows. Eugene watches her a minute, heart always full to burst at the sight of her, before joining Holly back in the living room on the couch.

Holly’s changed into old pants and a shirt; she offers him a glass of scotch on the rocks as he comes to sit down next to her. She stretches out her legs to lay her feet in his lap while sipping on her own drink. He curls one hand around her ankle and tilts back his head against the cushion of the couch.

“So,” Holly begins, nudging his thigh with her heel. “He stopped by.”

Eugene groans. “Come on, Hol.” His stomach churns again, the food, the scotch, the conversation. 

She grinds her heel harder into his leg. “What did he want?”

Eugene relents and sighs, sinking further into the couch. “I don’t know. He said it felt like the right time.”

“Maybe he’s dying.”

“Maybe.” That would be the way of it, wouldn’t it? Snafu seeking him out after all this time only to tell Eugene he was dying. He rubs Holly’s ankle. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She takes a long gulp of her drink. “Well, what were you planning on doing, originally?”

Eugene and Holly had been married for four years before Holly asked for a divorce. They were always fighting, never truly happy around each other. It culminated one miserable July night. 

_You’re not happy, Eugene, I’m not happy. We only got married because I was getting old and you’re lonely._

Eugene shook his head. _Don’t make it like that._

 _It’s true. I know we love each other_ , she had said, taking his face in her hands and rubbing his cheeks. _But not the way that we’re supposed to._

A few months after that, he told her his sob story over a shared bottle of good wine. The war, Snafu, the lot of it. How he was madly in love, how he was left behind on the train, how despite his efforts, he was truly queer. He wouldn’t have told her if he’d been sober, too afraid of having Flicker taken away from him.

 _I suspected,_ Holly said, threading her fingers through his hair. _We only had sex when we were drunk, or you were feeling particularly lonely. I thought it was just the war._

 _It was_ , Eugene said. 

_You deserve real love, she told him, cradling him against her body. Did you try to find him?_

_No._

_Why?_

_He should have found me._

She sighed into his hair. _My poor darling._

Her sob story from the war involved a Jewish soldier taken as a P.O.W. and then sent to a concentration camp, never to be seen or heard from again. He was truly the only man she ever thought about marrying.

In the end, the stayed married for Flicker. No court custody dates, no shuffling her around between homes. 

Eugene finishes his drink in a single gulp. “I didn’t think I’d be waiting this long. I mean, I ain’t not still waiting.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “That ship has long since sailed.” He’d said goodbye to Snafu in his dreams after he realized Snafu would not be coming back to him.

“Tell him that you’re angry. Make him feel bad.”

“I tried. It don’t work.”

She laughs. “Well, you aren’t very mean. I can't imagine you raising your voice.”

“Ha, ha.” He clinked around the ice in his glass. “I was ready to spit venom at him when I saw him, but then…” He remembered the passion, the feel of lips and fingers, the promises that went unfilled. “Jesus, Holly, I don’t know what to do.”

She wiggles her nose in thought as she stares at him. She is his pillar, his rock. Even just sitting in the same room with her has made him feel slightly better than he did earlier in the day. “You can’t really do anything until you talk to him, I guess. If he’s dying, you won’t have to do anything but go to his funeral.”

The thought of Snafu dying had once terrified Eugene down to his very core. He’d woken up from nightmares about it; hands stained bloody red, Snafu’s body shred to pieces or riddled with bullets.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Holly continues. “He’s probably just feeling guilty and wants some sort of absolution from you. Give it or don’t, that’s within your power. Try not to fret over it. As you said, that ship’s moved on, right?”

He stares into his glass as if the answers are at the bottom, mixed with the ice. “Yeah.”

“I do want to meet him, though.” She pops up from the couch and takes his glass before going to the liquor cabinet for more scotch. “Invite him over for dinner.”

Eugene groans again. “No, Hol.”

“We’re good old fashioned southerners, Eugene, we have to invite him for dinner. Besides, I think Flicker wants to see him again. She’s quite enamored by him.” Holly returns to the couch with the fresh drinks. “Just like, Daddy, huh?”

He can’t help but grin as he tells her, “Fuck off.”

They spend the rest of the evening watching television and drinking. Holly falls asleep before him on her side of the couch, face stuffed in the pillow. Eugene is just sober enough to take the empty glass from her hand and turn off the television and lights before trudging to upstairs.

He stops in front of Flicker’s room to watch her sleep, counting the current of her breath. He begins to doze off leaning against the door jam, so he moves on to his own room, dropping onto the bed, still dressed.

Moonlight casts the shadows of tree branches onto his wall and he watches them as his mind swings back and forth.

_Say it again,_ Snafu had asked with Eugene’s fingers in his hair. _Please, say it again._

 _I love you,_ Eugene answered, kissing Snafu hungry and desperate. _I love you, I love you._

Eugene shakes his head at the memory before rolling over to face the window and the dark trees. _I love you, I love you._


	3. Chapter 3

**iii.**

It’s early in the morning when Flicker comes bounding into Eugene’s room, already dressed, her hair tied up in a bun, which means Holly is awake. “Daddy, Daddy,” Flicker chimes, jumping on the bed near his feet.

He groans, head slightly throbbing. “Ain’t it a bit early?” The yellow sun comes through the window, almost blinding him. 

“Momma says you have to get up.”

“Why?” He moans like a child.

Flicker keeps bouncing. “She says you have to call Mr. Shelton.” 

Eugene opens an eye and stares at her. “She said what?”

“You have to call Mr. Shelton. She’s gonna make amber salad for dessert.”

He flops his head into the pillow. “Ambrosia,” he corrects. “I can’t believe she got you in on this.”

The mattress stills as Flicker stops jumping. She crawls up the bed to sit on Eugene’s hip. She stretches her little body over the length of him, tangling her toes in the sheets. She pokes at his cheek with her finger, smelling like syrup. 

He groans and opens an eye again to look at her. She’s a little out of focus, her face a mere inches from his own, but she’s smiling and blinking at him, expecting him to have some sort of response ready for her. “I like Mr. Shelton,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Why?” he grumbles, rolling to his back, shifting her to sit on his lower stomach. 

She shrugs and presses her little hands on either side of his face, squishing his cheeks. “He’s nice, I can tell.”

“Oh can you?” he mutters, his mouth pushed into fish-lips. She giggles and kisses him on the mouth, wet and slobbery. He wraps his arms around her body, keeping her close as he swings his legs out of bed to stand. 

Eugene never thought he could really love anyone or anything after the war, not until he held her for the first time, his hand fitting perfectly around her little ribcage, her tiny body warm against his chest. 

“Alright, chick,” Eugene says into her hair before setting her onto the ground. “Tell Momma I’d like some coffee. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“It’s already getting cold,” she replies, parroting her mother’s voice.

He rubs his eyes. “This the kind of day I’m gonna have?”

She playfully sticks out her tongue at him before running back downstairs. As he walks to the bathroom, he hears Flicker and Holly chatting in the kitchen, hears the toaster pop and Flicker squeal. 

Eugene continues to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He squints at the light pouring through the window as he stares at himself in the mirror. His hair is tousled by restless sleep, his eyes slightly pink from drinking so late. He needs a shave, running a hand over his cheeks and chin, scratching at the coarse hair. 

He splashes cold water on his face and runs a comb through his hair before joining Holly and Flicker at the breakfast table. There’s a mug of coffee waiting for him and two pancakes on a plate. Flicker happily stuffs blackberries into her mouth, kicking her legs under the table. Holly sits in her designated spot, coffee and pancakes as well, the morning paper open in front of her.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Holly greets, with a smirk. 

He grunts in response, taking a sip from his mug. Warm and bitter, settling harshly in his empty stomach. “Why ain’t you at work?”

“It’s Saturday, Daddy,” Flicker answers, going for her glass of milk. 

Eugene grunts again and starts cutting into his breakfast. It’s not exactly appetizing, but he knows he needs more in his belly than black coffee. 

Holly licks her lips and turns the pages of the newspaper. “I called Mr. Shelton for you today,” she casually says.

Eugene almost chokes on his pancakes; Flicker laughs at him as he tries to wash it down with several gulps of coffee. “You did what?”

Holly rolls her eyes. “You weren’t going to do it.”

“I wasn’t,” he agrees, wiping his mouth.

“Why not?” Flicker tilts her head inquisitively, like a dog. 

Eugene feels the air from her kicking feet against his knees. “Because...we’re busy. Ain’t we supposed to be down at the river lookin’ for the loons?”

Like an adult, Flicker scoffs and also rolls her eyes, a perfect imitation of her mother. “We can do that anytime, Daddy. They’ll be around for a while.” 

He raises his eyebrows at her, then at Holly, who shrugs. “You two are evil creatures.”

Flicker laughs again. 

Holly chuckles, turning another page. “That we are. He’ll be here for dinner, at five o’clock. I’m makin’ my ambrosia salad. Do you think he’ll like it?”

Eugene shrugs but recalls Snafu’s insatiable sweet tooth. “Holly,” he pleads. 

For a moment, she gazes on him with sympathy, and puts a hand over his; she’s soft and delicate to the touch and to the eyes. “You have to resolve this, Eugene,” she says firmly, the same voice that she uses when talking seriously to Flicker. “It’s gonna eat you alive.”

The moment between them is filled with heat from the morning and the uncertainty growing in Eugene’s chest, heavy like someone is sitting on his ribcage. 

“What’s gonna eat him?” Flicker asks.

Holly takes away her hand and goes back to the newspaper, leaving Eugene to poke at his food. “Nothin’, chickadee. Why don’t you finish up breakfast and we’ll go pick some flowers for tonight? Make a nice centerpiece.” 

“Good idea,” she answers with her mouth full. 

Eugene pushes the bits of pancakes around on his plate through the river of syrup and eventually forces himself to finish it. He finishes his coffee and drinks another cup, still wallowing in his chair. 

Flicker finishes and takes her plates to the sink before coming to Eugene and nudging him for space on his lap, which he gives. She kisses him on the cheek and puts her string bean arms around his neck. “What flowers do you think Mr. Shelton would like?”

Eugene puts his hands on her little waist and slumps his back against the chair. “I’m sure he’ll like anything you pick, chick. Why don’t you get those butterfly weeds? Those are always real pretty.” 

“Alright.” She kisses him again before sliding off his lap and heading to the back porch. “Hurry up, Momma!”

Holly folds the paper. “She’s awfully bossy.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, wonder where she gets it from?”

“Ha, ha. We’ll be back in a minute.” She clears her plate and joins Flicker. He listens to them walk away from the house and into the yard. They’ll go past their property and then the neighbors, down the hill and to the creek in the woods. The butterfly weed grows rampant in the woods and near water, it’s fire orange blooms unmistakable. 

They didn’t have flowers in Pavuvu, or Peleliu, or Okinawa. Just miles and miles of bottle-green jungle, or dusty airfields. Brown mud everywhere, an unforgiving yellow sun. Eugene didn’t know what flowers Snafu would like, if he’d like flowers at all. In China, he’d left Eugene bamboo leaves for luck, but they all eventually turned brown.

Eugene spends the rest of the day in a nervous haze. He goes out with Flicker to watch sparrows bathe in puddles from a burst of rain, watching her take little notes in her large, illegible handwriting. At lunch, he eats cookies and drinks lemonade like the day before, stomach too on edge for anything else. He tries to work on his book, going through his pages of research and pictures. A flock of sparrows on the yard, an unkindness of ravens in the largest tree in the backyard, a mean-looking vulture bloody-faced from its lunch. 

But his mind ping-pongs at every attempt to stay calm. He thinks about the first time he saw Snafu, growling mean like a dog from his bunk, then, later, grinning like a jester as he watched Eugene scrub oil drums. He thinks about the night he lost his virginity, on a creaky, thin cot, drenched in sweat from the heat and the experience, Snafu hovering above him with an awed, lovestruck look in his eyes. He’d ran his fingers down Eugene’s cheeks, over his mouth and Eugene returned the gesture by kissing a knuckle. Though they could have been caught, Eugene willingly let Snafu open him up with his fingers, then his cock, loving every second of it. The memory makes Eugene’s mouth go dry and he grabs another glass of lemonade. 

He thinks about China and the blissed-out months of sneaking around barracks and the city. The boat ride home, the train. His stomach drops as his mind wanders to that goddamn train, and instead of nervous, becomes angry again, as if it was just yesterday.

Holly convinces him to shower, but he doesn’t shave, despite her nagging. “You look ridiculous,” she says as he walks down the hall from the bathroom to his room.

“Good,” he answers without looking. 

In his room, he digs through his dresser and closet. He feels like a teenager readying for his first date as he holds shirts up to his chest and looks in the mirror. It has to look like he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t, he reminds himself as he pulls a blue shirt over his head, leaving the top few buttons open. He pulls on checkered shorts and runs a comb through his hair before huffing and returning downstairs. 

The kitchen is hot with dinner on the stove. All the windows of the house are wide open, letting in the rain scented summer air. Eugene almost starts sweating immediately. Holly stands in front of the icebox, fanning herself. She glances over her shoulder at him. “You look ridiculous,” she says again.

“I do not.”

“If you say so,” she responds in a singsong voice. She wears a black dress with white polka dots but walks around barefoot, her toes painted the same bright red as her lips. “Flicker made me get the leaves on the table.” She gestures to the direction of the porch. “She’s very excited to have a guest again.” 

Eugene glances to Flicker on the back porch, setting the table, and arranging a vase full of orange butterfly weeds. She looks at it the way Eugene looks at his photographs and notes. She wiggles her nose back and forth like Holly, but her eyes are serious like his. 

The egg timer digs and Holly--wearing comically large oven mitts--pulls a casserole out of the stove, setting it near the window to cool. She wipes her head with one of the mitts. “We should think about having air conditioning installed,” she sighs. “I’m getting too old for this heat.”

He nods in agreement, leaning against the icebox.

About a minute later, the doorbell rings and Eugene’s body becomes stiff as a starched shirt; he stands up perfectly straight like he’s been called to attention by a drill instructor. He considers running upstairs and faking sick. But Holly takes one look at him and glares, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you even think about it, Eugene.” 

Flicker blows pass them like an arrow going to the front door. Eugene stands in the kitchen, eyes on Holly as Holly watches down the hall. He hears Flicker greet Snafu at the door, and Snafu answering her. The door closes and their footsteps approach. 

“Daddy, Mr. Shelton’s here,” she proudly announces. 

“I heard.” 

Holly looks past Eugene and smiles. “Mr. Shelton,” she says, walking by. She still hasn’t bothered with shoes, nor will she. 

“Mrs. Sledge,” Snafu answers. Without turning, Eugene knows that Snafu is grinning, wide and languid. 

“Holly, please,” she says. “‘Mrs. Sledge’ is Gene’s mother, she’s quite insistent on that matter.”

Eugene lets himself grin at that; his mother is quite insistent on the moniker. A moment passes before Holly reaches behind her and knocks Eugene in the arm, forcing him to turn around. 

Snafu stands in the precipice between the kitchen and the hallway, a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other stuffed in the pocket of his khaki trousers. He wears a green shirt that makes his eyes look the same color. His bottom lip stuck between his teeth, he looks from Holly to Eugene for some kind of direction. 

Something tightens in Eugene’s chest, a noticeable pain that almost makes him bend at the sensation. 

Flicker grabs Snafu by the wrist and starts to direct him towards the porch. “You get to sit next to me,” she says.

His eyes light up a bit with a grin as he obeys her direction. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Holly grabs wine glasses from the cabinet and hands them to Eugene. “He’s very handsome,” she says.

“Shut up.” He carries the glasses by the stems in between his fingers. The bottle of wine sits on the table next to the vase of flowers, while Snafu is settling himself into the chair next to Flicker. She puts her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm, staring at him. 

“Elbow, chick,” Eugene says, setting the glasses down and plopping into his chair, across from Snafu. The back of his neck burns and he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to sit still through a meal. 

Flicker does as she’s told, folding her dainty hands into her lap. She keeps her eyes on Snafu. “It’s bad manners,” she explains.

“I’ve heard,” Sanfu replies. “Your daddy workin’ on his book today?” he looks sideways at Eugene.

“Daddy’s always workin’ on his book. I’m his assistant sometimes.” 

Snafu pays close attention to her, as if she’s the most important person in the room, and what she says matters above everything and everyone else. “Is that so?”

She happily explains their walks and the notes that she takes, how she’s named after the bird, again. Watching them interact makes Eugene’s heart soar, and he even smiles. Holly smiles too, cutting and serving pieces of the casserole onto everyone’s plates.

“Mr. Shelton,” Holly begins.

Snafu chuckles and shakes his head, “Please, I ain’t never been a mister.” 

“What do you prefer, then?” She reaches for the wine bottle, cork already in hand. 

He holds out his glass for her to fill. “Snafu’s fine.” 

Eugene can’t imagine anyone calls him that anymore, but he knows that his real name is reserved for quiet moments, intimate moments. He remembers murmuring the name into Snafu’s neck, his hair.

He shakes his head to clear the image and pushes his glass forward as well. He clears his throat before speaking. “You ever see anyone else?” he asks.

Snafu takes a sip of the wine and bites back the sour flavor. “Hear from Burgie sometimes. Holidays.”

Only Burgie would be the one to still stay in contact. Snafu hadn’t made many friends; neither did Eugene, honestly. But the few he did, and who were still alive, sent him Christmas cards from their families. He did the same, but sometimes he’d add little notes just for Burgie. 

_Does it ever keep you up at night, after all this time? Do you still think about Hamm, about Ack-Ack?_

Burgie admitted that he was still afraid of fireworks, and some nights he was jerked from a deep sleep by the sound of gunfire or mortar rounds. He didn’t like big crowds (neither did Eugene) and he enjoyed his quiet work in the post office. 

“Momma was in the war,” Flicker says, pride in her voice. “She took pictures and wrote for the newspaper.”

Snafu’s eyebrows raise in interest as he continues to drink. “Press corps? That’s a lot more balls than we had. You didn’t even have guns.”

Holly smiles, swirling her wine, gazing into it. She probably sees the face of her dead fiance. “Well, not military issue.” They all laughed, Flicker too, even though she didn’t know why. “Let’s eat up so we can have dessert.”

The setting sun cast yellow and pink light across the clouds and caught in the windchimes hanging from the eaves of the porch. A breeze picks up, clinking them together. Flicker points out her favorites as she shovels food into her mouth. 

“Manners, chick,” Eugene reminds her. “Ain’t polite to eat with your mouth full.”

She rolls her eyes but stops talking to chew. 

“This is a nice place you got,” Snafu says, eyes roaming the porch and out to the backyard. “Lived here long?”

Eugene pushes food on his plate, takes a bite. “About eight years. Right after Flicker was born.”

“It’s close to the school,” Holly tells. “I can’t stand a long commute. And we’re right here near the woods. Good for Flicker to play and for the bird watching.” 

That sly grin moves across Snafu’s face, the one that haunts Eugene’s dreams. “I didn’t know Sledge was into bird-watchin’.” 

“Daddy loves birds!” 

“It’s quiet,” Eugene says. “Keeps the mind occupied.” 

There’s a stillness that comes over them, a recognition between veterans. The mind needs the stimulation, or else it starts to wander, it starts to play bad memories like a filmstrip, unending. Eugene still trembles from nightmares, waking in a cold sweat. He’ll sometimes go to Holly’s bed, like a child, looking for some kind of comfort. She’ll hold him and whisper nice things, though her voice always balances on a thread. 

Watching the birds keeps his mind’s attention. His eyes scan trees and brush for their figures, and he scribbles his notes. He counts their numbers, their colors, he keeps tracks of migration patterns and mating habits. He writes down the name of the flora around him, he picks flowers and leaves to experience their smells. 

Flicker, God bless her, doesn’t think anything is wrong and that her parents are perfectly, well-adjusted adults, and as far as she knows, so is Snafu. She doesn’t see the haunt in his eyes that Eugene recognizes, or the way that his left-hand twitches and shakes. Though his attention is on her, he’s still scanning outside, the points of the room, ready to escape. 

“Momma,” Flicker says, pushing her plate forward. “I finished, can we have dessert?”

Holly blinks a few times, coming back from whatever thoughts were running through her mind, and checks Flicker’s plate, then everyone else’s. She’s finished, and so has Snafu. Eugene is the guilty party who’s only eaten half of what is in front of him. Holly expects this, from time to time. 

“Of course, chick, let me clear the table.”

Snafu pops up to stand, wiping his mouth with the napkin from his lap. “Let me help.”

“Oh no,” she says, as she picks up hers and Flicker’s plates. “You’re a guest.”

“Ain’t right to let you do all the work. You made dinner.” they go back and forth in Southern politeness before Holly relents, letting Snafu help her clear the table. Flicker stays seated with Eugene, kicking her legs back and forth under the table. 

“Daddy, you look sad,” she says.

He lifts his head from his hand. “I ain’t sad. I’m just tired.” 

 

*

 

After dinner and dessert, Eugene sits on the stairs of the back porch, watching Flicker and Holly walk through the grass to catch fireflies. He smokes from his pipe and chews on the mouthpiece; Snafu sits next to him, a good foot of distance between them, smoking a cigarette. It dangles loosely between his fingers. 

The evening his indigo, and yellow from pollen, a haze settled over the field. The fireflies blink every few seconds, on different rotations, lighting up the backyard with an eerie green. Flicker squeals in delight with each bug she gets into the jar. 

“She’s a real sweet little thing,” Snafu says, exhaling slowly. He looks up to the sky to follow his trail of smoke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. He turns his head slightly to look at Snafu, sprawled out on the stairs like a cat, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and untucked. He scratches at his stomach and Eugene can just see his belly by the light from the porch. It burns in his throat and his hand itches to touch, despite his tangle of emotions. He pulls it into a fist and keeps it at his side. “You don’t have kids?” 

Snafu sucks long on the cigarette making the cherry blaze; Eugene can hear the burning of the paper and the tobacco. Snafu shakes his head before exhaling smoke rings. He sticks a finger through two of them. “Not for a lack of tryin’.” That lazy grin moves across his mouth. “Mrs. Shelton number two made me go to the doctors. Looks like I’m shootin’ blanks,” he tells as simply as any truth. 

“I’m sorry,” Eugene says.

Snafu shrugs. “Don’t think I’d make a very good daddy.”

“You’re great with Flicker. She really loves you.” Eugene didn’t mean to say love, but it came out anyway. He panics, taking a deep inhale of his pipe instead of a calculated puff, causing him to cough. He sits straight up to get the smoke out of his lungs and Snafu puts a hand on his knee. The gesture makes him gag even more and he has to stand. Snafu stands too, watching and waiting. “I’m fine,” Eugene mutters.

Snafu puts his hands on his hips. “Sure.” He looks back out to the yard while Eugene recovers. “Your wife is real nice,” he says. 

Eugene nods, setting the pipe on the edge of the porch. “She’s nice to you.” 

“She hard on you?” He grins.

“Sometimes. Like with you.” He sits back down and again, Snafu follows, still a foot of space between them. “I didn’t wanna invite you over.”

Snafu takes another long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs as he answers. “I know.” The smoke comes out of his nose. 

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Anything you want,” he answers with a lazy drawl and grin.

For a moment, no time had passed at all. They were China, California, on base after the surrender. A place where they could sit and smoke and not be afraid. Casually flirt and not be reported. “Holly knows about us,” he confesses.

This actually seems to jar Snafu, because Eugene watches him stiffen into a statue, that cigarette slowly burning to his fingers. “What’s she gonna do?” 

“Nothing? I told her a long time ago. When she asked for a divorce.”

He chuckles. “Tellin’ her you fucked a man made her stay married to you?” He raises an eyebrow.

Eugene sees the irony in it and also cracks a grin. “We stayed married for Flicker. Ain’t no reason to shuffle her around.” He glances down to his shoes, at his hands hanging between his legs. “Holly’s my best friend.” 

Snafu stubbs the last of the cigarette and starts on a new one. “That’s sweet.”

Silence fell over them as it did on summer evenings like this, sitting close together and enjoying the view. Before, Snafu would have laid between Eugene’s legs to watch the fireflies and the stars, and Eugene would have raked his fingers through Snafu’s curly hair until the both of them were on the brink of sleep. It makes Eugene’s chest ache, that ax pressing deep into his heart again. He reaches over for his pipe and freezes when he feels Snafu’s hand slip under his shirt to run along his back, coming down over the hip. 

“Please,” Eugene whispers, not sure what he’s asking. 

Snafu’s answer is to bring his hand back to himself and Eugene relights his pipe. 

Flicker comes running from the yard with the jar in her hand, full of fireflies, blinking on and off. “Daddy, look!” She practically shoves the jar in his face. 

“Good job, chick. You got holes in the top?”

She tips the jar forward as proof. “I’ll let ‘em out in the morning.”

“That’s my girl.” He touches her chin. 

Holly joins them, fanning herself. She’s unbuttoned the top of her dress to an inappropriate degree, but who’s going to stop her on her own property. “Just about time to get this chickadee into bed,” she says, running fingers through Flicker’s hair. “What do you say to Mr. Shelton?” 

“Thank you for visiting us,” Flicker says. 

Snafu smiles at her. “Thanks for havin’ me.” 

She sets down her jar before launching herself forward against Snafu, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Snafu stills for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to handle her. But he eases into the hug, shoulders dropping, and wraps one arm around her, keeping the hand with the cigarette away from her body. 

“Come back and visit again,” she mumbles into his shirt before pulling back. She bends to pick up her jar and then leans to kiss Eugene. 

Snafu leans back on the stairs. “I’ll certainly try, darlin’.”

She smiles at the pet name before dashing inside with her prize. Holly yawns, putting her arms around her waist. “You’re free to visit anytime you like,” she says. “I think I’m going to take a cool bath after I get the little monster down. You boys have a good night.” She passes them without another word. 

“I’d like that,” Snafu says. “Comin’ back.” 

Eugene’s stomach churns. In these quiet moments, it was easy to forget that Eugene was still angry and hurt. Because this is how he’d imagined their life together; lazy evenings watching the sun set, home cooked meals, all the domesticity he shared with Holly. 

Snafu doesn’t press it. They just sit in silence to finish their smokes before Snafu comments that he has to head back to the hotel. Eugene leads him through the house and to the front door, like a good host, and leans on the jamb as Snafu steps onto the porch. “How many more days are you staying?” he asks.

“I leave Tuesday morning.”

The air that had always sparked between them seemed physical now like Eugene could reach out and grab it. While Eugene was busy contemplating his next move, Snafu pushed forward, placing a quick kiss on Eugene’s mouth. He gasps and jerks away. 

“Couldn’t leave without that,” Snafu says with a bit of a smirk. 

Eugene touches his lips. “I don’t….” he starts, befuddled. 

“Come by for a drink tomorrow at the bar,” he says, walking away from the door, leaving Eugene unable to answer. 

He stands there like an idiot and watches Snafu calmly walk to his car and drive away. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs begin to burn. Upstairs, he hears the bathtub filling with water and Flicker babbling on about pirates and her fireflies. 

In a daze, Eugene closes the door and retreats to his couch, hoping that the sagging cushions will swallow him. 

The kiss felt right like no time had passed at all, but Eugene can’t untangle himself from the [sting] and absence of the last ten years. They were in love. They made plans for the future, even if that future was just a shack and an acre of land. He would have given up his parents’ comfy home, the security of his hometown. He would have forgone school and done day labor or flipped burgers just to spend his life with Snafu. To wake up in the same bed every morning, to live nights without fear of mortars and bullets. 

His stomach continues to churn and he goes to the liquor cabinet for the whiskey, drinking it right for the bottle. It burns the whole way down his throat and into his stomach, sloshing with dinner and the wine. He drinks until his eyelids begin to droop and his limbs feel heavy and warm. 

He manages to drag himself up the stairs, head ready to spin. He pokes in to see Flicker, already sound asleep before trudging to Holly’s room. She’s sitting up in bed, reading. He lingers in the doorway like a lover, eyes downcast. 

“I like him,” Holly says without looking from her book. “I can see why the two of you love him.” She grins, but the grin drops when she lifts her head and finds Eugene slumped against her doorframe. “What’s the matter, Gene?”

Eugene chews on his bottom lip. “He kissed me.”

She offers him a sympathetic smile before putting out her arms as an invitation to join her in the bed. As he sits on the mattress on ‘his’ side, he kicks off his shoes and struggles with his trousers before giving up. He rolls over to put his head in her lap and she drapes one arm over his shoulder and uses the other hand to brush her fingers through his hair. “You got into the whiskey, huh?”

He nods. “What am I supposed’ta do?”

“You’re lucky to have a second chance,” she says, her body sinking against the mattress. She rarely mentions poor Roger, marched off to a concentration camp, but Eugene can only imagine what she’d give to see him again.

“He left me,” Eugene continues, the drink making him more morose than usual. 

“He did,” she answers as fact. Her finger comes over his ear. “But if he didn’t leave you, we wouldn’t have that beautiful little girl.”

The suggestion almost sobers Eugene right up, but he’s too heavy to move. That thought never crossed his mind. If he hadn’t been abandoned on the train, his daughter wouldn’t exist, and how could he live with that?

“Do you still love him?” Holly asks.

Sober, Eugene would have denied it. He spent so long pretending he didn’t. But now, drunk on the good whiskey and on the brink sleep, he nods.

Holly continues to pet him and he slowly drifts off to sleep, holding her tight, tasting cigarettes on his tongue.


End file.
